


Proving

by fragilespark



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:11:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilespark/pseuds/fragilespark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 5x03. Mordred wants to impress in training, and the Knights are not going to make it easy for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scribblemoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemoose/gifts).



Mordred was starting to feel at home with his routine in Camelot. Sparring, meetings, patrols and court. For every crime and accident there was soon its balance in celebration and friendship, something that had been sorely missing from his life in recent times.

Merlin was a busy man. Whenever Mordred wanted to talk to him, he was either rushed off his feet or about to be. Even when he watched the training, he was in no mood for chatter, waiting to attend to Arthur. He tried to understand.

Mordred started to get used to it. The other Knights were boisterous enough for a whole city's worth of companionship. Still, Mordred felt shut out, and it crept dangerously close to the notion that he did not belong there at all.

"You won't beat Percy in the rain," Gwaine laughed, "don't even try it."

The drizzle was steadily soaking the ground, threatening to make the grass and soil slippery at any time. Mordred braced himself against it, trying to balance caution with instinct as he charged at Percival. He had fought in the rain before, and on snow, although he had not yet won against Percival even on dry ground.

No shields this time. Percival brought his sword down to block Mordred's attack and despite the power behind his moves he was also fast, his shoulder fully healed, dodging Mordred's next strike. Mordred barely evaded his counterattack before diving forward at the first opening. Percival knocked him away with his arm and Mordred stumbled, having to regain his footing quickly to parry the next attack with any force.

He stepped back, a beat in the battle before he lunged back in, eyes open against the rain on his face. Percival's sword slammed away his next two strikes and Mordred jumped back to avoid getting hit. Percival gained some ground on him, forcing him back. Mordred deflected his blade but Percival shouldered into him and he landed back against the cold ground before he could react.

It would have been easy to blame the conditions, but it was over faster than he would have liked, and he had only proved Gwaine right.

"Again." Percival lifted his blade from where it was resting on Mordred's chest and helped him up.

Mordred took a deep breath. It was only going to get more difficult. He could hardly see the point - he had already lost.

He rushed at Percival, hoping to get him with speed but he parried and dodged and had Mordred on the defensive yet again. Mordred's breathing grew harsh with effort and frustration as he struggled against the onslaught. He firmed his grip and tried to ignore his soaked hair almost in his eyes. The only thing that mattered was staying alert and being ready just in case he had a chance. He skilfully dodged one of Percival's attacks and his intention to counter was interrupted by losing his footing, the slip sending him reeling and facing away to the side just to stay upright.

Percival swung his arm against Mordred's face and that was all it took to send him to the ground with a yelp. He coughed against the grass in his mouth, feeling the flush of humiliation. He felt the tip of Percival's blade against the back of his shoulder and had no choice but to rest his cheek against the wet ground, defeated. Percival stepped around him and held his arm out.

Mordred clambered up, smearing the mud from his face. "Again."

There was a little lift of Percival's eyebrows before he grinned and resumed his battle stance. The other Knights cheered and started calling out their encouragement and Mordred slicked his wet hair back.

He let Percival charge this time, ignoring his taunting expression to focus on what his body was doing, how to take advantage of the weather to bring him down.

Mordred didn't care if he went down with him.

After a short fight Percival evaded the thrust of Mordred's blade, light on his feet. Mordred kicked out as hard as he could, toppling Percival over. He pounced on him, but Percival held Mordred's blade arm and rolled them over, his forearm against Mordred's throat.

"No-!" Mordred's cry was choked by the increasing rain and he turned his head away. He'd had him. He'd almost had Percival. Yet he could feel the mud seeping into his clothes and in his hair as his weight was pressed into it.

Percival got up and Mordred lunged at his midsection, trying to knock him over again. Percival laughed and Mordred let go, trying instead to disarm him. A torrent of rain fell upon them ast the storm broke, and Mordred could barely see anything at all.

"That's enough!" Arthur shouted.

Mordred shielded his eyes and tried to figure out which direction he was supposed to be going.

Percival clapped a hand on his shoulder and walked with him to the shelter of the tent, where Mordred gasped in the dry air. His padding was drenched and everything was heavy on him, which had made both their movements sluggish near the end.

Arthur joined them. "Mordred, you have to pace yourself. I could see the desperation on your face - it was almost panic. Don't let it get to you."

"Yes, my lord."

"Here, clean yourself up." Arthur threw him a cloth.

Mordred wiped the muddy wash from his face and neck before squeezing the water out of his hair. He needed a bath.

Percival sprawled himself onto a chair. "Good job. I almost got a little breathless."

The blatant teasing was for his own benefit as well as Arthur's. It only seemed to increase the harder he tried.

He wasn't allowed to be sorry for long. They took him to the Rising Sun and toasted his sparring session as if it had been a victory, and Percival slung an arm around him as he told them all about a battle he'd had before he'd met Arthur. Gwaine sat down with his pint and smiled at him, and Mordred let the conversation drift over him as he relaxed.

 

The days always started with the same hope, the same ease. It was hard to fail so often.

Mordred's body seemed to suffer from a perpetual ache, his muscles worn much more than they had ever been on the road. Some days he thrived on it. Some days he wanted nothing more than the shield in his hand and the sweat between his shoulderblades. Knowing that he had the comfort of home in Camelot, the brotherhood of the Knights and the trust of the King and Queen.

Other days he thought that the jesting went too far, that he was not the inexperienced boy they saw, he had survived and fought and worked hard but it counted for nothing in their eyes and he would never be their equal.

He never resented Arthur. No matter how many times the King watched silently as he trained, no matter how many times Mordred fell in front of him. Mordred knew Arthur believed in him, and that meant everything. Especially as Mordred had faith in him too.

 

Elyan didn't give much away on the battlefield. Mordred liked fighting him. He never felt as though he was being mocked during battle, although Elyan was one of the most mischievous in ribbing him as soon as the matches were over.

Mordred had gone into this fight full of determination. He was feeling strong. The conditions were perfect. He had watched Elyan fight Arthur, and saw his form, taking in all the information he could. There was no misstep this time. Fair as the fight was, Mordred still could not take a victory. Elyan found an opportunity, grabbed his arm and slung him to the ground, mace pressed against Mordred's stomach.

Mordred got to his knees and Elyan hauled him up, and Mordred nodded to Leon to go next. He made his way to the tent and sat down, face pressed against his upturned hands.

He was being impatient.

Despite knowing this, despite taking Arthur's words seriously, he still yearned for an easier day.

Someone came in, and he looked up. Gwaine.

"You're not giving up there, are you?"

Mordred stood up. "No, I'm just- I needed some water."

Gwaine looked him up and down. "For that, you'll need a cup." He walked over to the table and glanced at him as he poured some water into one. "Or if you're going to use your hands, a river might help. Preferably a clean one."

"Right." Mordred ran his fingers through his hair and wondered why he felt so vulnerable after leaving behind his shield.

"Here."

"Thanks." Mordred drank most of it. He was only a little out of breath, but it was satisfying all the same.

"Trust me, you'd hate us more if we let you win." He shrugged. "In the long run."

"I don't-" Mordred sighed. "I just wish I could do it."

Gwaine tapped the back of his hand against Mordred's arm. "You have it in you. But so do we." He winked, and wouldn't leave until Mordred smiled.

 

Their numbers were slim. Sir Leon had taken half the Knights on a patrol so Mordred found himself fighting Arthur twice. Merlin always stared so intently, but lost interest the moment it was Gwaine's turn to spar. Mordred loved fighting him almost as much as he loved watching him, and he relished the chance to forget about Merlin's uneasy civility.

Mordred was a little tired, but he was willing to give it his all, knowing Gwaine would not hold back either.

"Now that you've had your warm up..." Gwaine grinned.

"Don't let him hear you say that." Mordred said, before running in to attack.

Gwaine deflected hits with both sword and shield and Mordred had to stay alert. Gwaine had a way of making him fall into a rhythm and then taking him off-guard just when he was feeling confident. Mordred aspired to that effortless style, perhaps more than he did to Arthur's. However, he was far, far from it now.

Mordred gripped his sword so hard it hurt. Gwaine had disarmed him more than any other Knight and he didn't want the battle to end that way. It was the least painful but the most compliant - with his own weapon aimed at him as well as Gwaine's accompanying smile, what choice did he ever have?

When he struck Gwaine's shield it hurt his whole arm, and Mordred felt rather as if he was forging his own prowess, hit by hit. Gwaine slammed his shield into him, and Mordred could barely keep his footing, but he stumbled back enough for a breather before slicing at Gwaine's approach.

He anticipated Gwaine's kick and dodged clear of it, racing to flank him. Gwaine shoved back with his shield but Mordred used the awkward angle to haul Gwaine to his knees and hold his blade against his throat.

Mordred panted hard, expecting Gwaine's blade to be pressed against his side, but it was clear and Gwaine's surprise gave way to satisfaction as he dropped his sword and yielded.

Mordred had won.

He heard the clapping from the others and Gwaine looked up at him, eyebrow raised. "You gonna remove that?"

Mordred dropped his weapon to one side and held his hand out, heels digging into the ground as he pulled Gwaine up.

"Well done."

A smile spread over Mordred's face and he was even more thrilled when Arthur came over to congratulate him.

"Excellent fight, Mordred."

The praise was gratifying, but underneath there was a new sense of pride for all the fights he had lost.

"Thank you, my lord. I know that... one day, I will serve you in battle, and there will be no audience, no celebration. Win or lose, it is a great honour to fight for you."

Gwaine nudged Arthur. "Do you think Sir Leon taught him that one?"

Arthur grinned and squeezed Mordred's shoulder. "Spoken like a true Knight of Camelot, indeed."

"Well, your arm won't get stronger just standing there talking. Come on," Gwaine said, taking up his sword, "again."


End file.
